The Sweetest Sin
by tlyxor1
Summary: Eros fans the flames of desire, but Gwen Potter's first quest is no place for such things, and she's never been a fan of manufactured love anyway. A rescue mission, a summer storm, and Michael Yew. Some things are just an inevitability. Michael/Gwen (fem!Harry). Lightning Thief/Post-GoF AU.
1. Chapter 1: Crossroad

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** A daughter of Aphrodite, a son of Apollo, and a world of possibilities. Gwen Potter has enemies though, and Michael Yew's not exactly threat free either, but all's fair in love and war, and sometimes, the danger is the best part. "Is that a harmonica in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" The Lightning Thief/Harry Potter AU. Fem!Harry. Gwen/Michael

**Rating:** M for language, violence, mild adult themes, character death, and teenaged debauchery.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Chapter One: Crossroads**

The hound was enormous, far larger than Fluffy, with hellfire eyes that burned like a raging inferno, and sharp, proportionately massive fangs. It blocked her path to the street, she was exhausted, and so she found herself at a stalemate, or perhaps a crossroad, with one question to answer: should she fight, or should she flee?

In her fourteen years of life, it was a question she'd been faced with on a number of occasions, and the answer had always been the same. Raised and trained by heroes, and inspired by them too, Gwen Potter had never run from trouble. Regardless of fear, or fallen friends, or indisputable odds, she'd never failed to stand her ground. In the face of certain death, she wasn't about to start now.

With an indrawn breath, Gwen palmed the handles of her daggers, braced her weight, and watched, gaze narrowed, as the hound shifted it's own mass, ready, and waiting. It drooled with the promise of it's hunger sated, and it's eyes gleamed with a maliciousness that made her tremble, but the witch didn't falter.

For a brief, fleeting moment, she wished for a celestial bronze equivalent of throwing knives, but then the hound lunged at her, and Gwen didn't much have the time for idle thoughts. She threw her focus into the fight instead, her muscles burned, her heart thundered, and yet, she came out of the brief skirmish as the victor, with a hellhound fur winter cloak for spoils, a slash to her forearm for her trouble, and harbouring an exhaustion she could feel in her bones.

It had been a long three days.

"Are you alright, Mr Tumnus?" She asked, and her companion appeared from beneath Gwen's invisibility cloak, a disgruntled frown on his face.

He was her keeper, a satyr, apparently assigned to her as soon as her existence had been discovered. He apparently used something called 'The Mist' to hide his goatish features, with the exception of a goatee that he apparently took great pride in.

Gwen didn't miss the irony.

"You need to stop calling me that," he sulked.

"It's a term of endearment," she answered flippantly, "Let's go."

In truth, she'd not known her satyr companion for more than ten days. He'd arrived at her home, had systematically turned her world upside down with the help of her father, godfather, and pseudo uncle, and seven days after that, they'd departed London, headed for locations unknown, with only a hug from her anxious father, a pair of bronze rings he'd assured would 'come in handy', and a blessing in Ancient Greek that she'd somehow translated into 'May Aphrodite guide your way'.

Despite her anticipation for what had laid ahead of her, Gwen had not been comforted by the send off, and 72 hours later, she was pretty sure if Aphrodite was guiding her way, the goddess was doing a piss poor job of it.

They stepped out onto the street, headed for the underground, and boarded the first train to Manhattan. She'd never been to New York in her life, but she'd lived in London long enough, and the foreign sites, though interesting in that tourist sort of way, didn't hold her attention the same way it would have for anyone else.

She was not in New York to site see, after all.

Then again, maybe it was simply a byproduct of her ADHD, but whatever the case, the greater majority of her attention was focused on ensuring that they both made it to Camp Halfblood alive, and given that they had been hunted like animals thus far, it had become a full-time job.

"I killed someone when I was eleven," she admitted, and her keeper, whose name was actually Morris, tilted his head, curious, but not accusatory. "He was possessed by Voldemort, and he was trying to kill me."

"That was self-defence," Morris answered, certain and unshakeable in his confidence, "It's not your fault - just like the hellhound."

Gwen huffed a hollow laugh, turned her gaze to the window, and wished she could believe him. That knowledge, however, had gnawed at her for years, and it wasn't going to go away so easily. So many others had said the same thing - her family, her friends, the faculty - and yet, the memory of Quirrel's skin bubbling beneath her hands, the echo of his tortured screams, the acrid stench of burning flesh, lingered in her subconscious, and she was certain it would never fade.

She wondered if her actions made her any less of a hero.

At Penn station, the pair transferred onto the Long Island Rail Road, Gwen withdrew a rubix cube from her bag, and occupied herself with the puzzle until they reached their stop. It had been a gift from Remus, who always got Gwen little gifts that challenged her, and it was probably the only thing that had kept her sane since she'd left London.

That had been three days ago, and they'd been travelling ever since - plane, then foot, and most recently, train - and the witch, and recently discovered demigod, thought she'd never missed London more in her life.

She'd not even been so homesick her first week at Hogwarts, and that, of course, discounted the growing number of near death experiences she and Morris had encountered during their travels. They'd been captured by trolls and held captive in the sewerage systems of London - and that had only been the beginning.

Apparently, Morris had just been as surprised as Gwen to learn that it wasn't just Greek monsters who enjoyed the taste of demigod flesh, though in hindsight, Gwen finally understood why she'd nearly been killed by any number of magical beasts during her tenure at Hogwarts.

Trouble magnet, indeed.

"Are you excited about camp?" Morris queried, restless and hopeful.

Gwen twisted her lips, furrowed her brow, and considered the question. She'd been trained since she was young in Tae Kwon Do, Karate and Judo, and when she was twelve, she'd taken up lessons to learn how to properly use her blades. She could brawl with the best of them, battle strategy was almost second nature, and thus far, she'd held her own pretty bloody well, if she did say so herself.

In essence, she didn't feel she needed to learn an entirely new fighting style, but another part of her, young and optimistic, was excited to meet others like her - demigods - and she couldn't pretend otherwise if she tried.

It meant entering a world where Zeus and Poseidon had been arguing ceaselessly for the last six months, which meant general tension all around, but Gwen had never been able to refuse an adventure, and that would probably never change. She was drawn to the lifestyle of a hero, which was probably ridiculous since most of the legends ended in tragedy, but Gwen had always been a survivor - a fighter - and it was an aspect of her identity she could - and would - not deny.

The witch was also of course curious about what the two kings were arguing about, but unless it was made her business, she wasn't going to try and find out. - not when her curiosity had nearly gotten her killed when she was eleven, and grounded for the entire summer, too.

Somehow, Gwen got the impression that involving herself in Olympian business that didn't involve her would result in a great deal more than just a summer's grounding, and the witch had no desire to learn of what _that_ kind of punishment could entail. Evisceration, probably.

"I'm excited to get away from the monsters," she answered, "And to sleep in a real bed."

"I'm afraid the camp's bunk beds will be a far cry from the opulence you're familiar with," Morris said.

Gwen arched an unimpressed eyebrow, and her expression was deadpan. "Do you think I give a damn about that?"

Unconventional in her attire, she'd opted for a pair of purple skinny leg jeans, the biker boots her godfather had gifted her, and a pale grey 'Rolling Stones' band tee. Her hair was long though, pulled into a solitary French braid down her back, and with the help of the leather cuff around her wrist, and the black rubber bands around the other, she looked nothing like the pureblood heiress she was supposed to be.

"Touche," Morris conceded, "But in my defence, you looked like a princess when you opened the door."

Gwen scoffed and shoved her new friend, but a blush stained her cheeks, and a smile pulled at her lips. "You're just an A-class silver tongue, aren't you, Mr Tumnus?"

He sketched a mock bow, his hat wavered on his head, and he replied, "That's me, smooth talker extraordinaire."

The rest of their train ride was spent in idle conversation, and the pair exited the train in Long Island, with yet another leg of their journey ahead of them. She grimaced at the thought, felt for the bronze rings on her index fingers, and walked beside Morris as he led the way through the station, headed for the exit.

"Brace yourself," Morris warned her, headed to the taxi bay, "The last leg is the worst."

"That's comforting," she deadpanned, a sublime example of dry wit and morbid humour. The girl followed him into the backseat, and turned her attention to the scenery passing them by. "You just made my day. Seriously."

Sloping hills, blue skies, and the occasional glimpse of the bay, the pair rode in the company of a cantankerous foreigner and the sound of Kelly Clarkson through the speakers, but Morris stopped them beside a strawberry field, with a hill far out in the distance, and surrounded by forestry.

She wondered briefly if they were going to start snitching strawberries, but before she could raise the question, Morris guided her towards the trees, and she swore violently.

"Are you joking?"

"I'm afraid not," Morris answered, "Come on, I smell monsters."

"That's nice, isn't it?" She groused, but followed the satyr all the same, braced for anything.

"I don't think you understand," Morris was saying, "Your scent is _crazy_ powerful - like one of the big three - and it's kind of unbelievable to think that you're actually a daughter of Aphrodite, traits notwithstanding. Never mind that though, you're like a siren call to anything - men, women, monsters - and not just because you smell good."

Uninterested in the conversation, she tuned his tangent out, and instead focused on their surroundings, on the silence of the trees, of the tension in the air, and she inhaled deeply, certain that she was currently being hunted. She didn't know _what_ was stalking her, but the sensation of _prey, meet predator_ was not a pleasant one and it went without saying that Gwen didn't like it.

Morris, who'd fallen silent, met Gwen's hazel eyes with his own brown gaze, wide and fearful. "There's so many."

She shivered.

"You have to run," Morris implored, "I'll hold them off."

He withdrew his reed pipes, but he trembled violently, and Gwen set her expression, determined. She was scared though - terrified, even - but she would never leave a friend behind.

"I won't leave you."

"Please," he entreated, "I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt again. You just need to top the hill. Past the pine up there, and you'll be safe."

Gwen looked around her, and licked her lips, her mouth dry. They were almost fully circled by all manner of monsters, and the only way she could make it to Camp Halfblood alive was if an intervention was had.

And yet, Morris was her friend, born of endless days of travel, mortal peril, and kicking ass. They'd shared secrets in the night, with only the stars as their witness, they'd trudged on with danger on their heels, and in her mind, experiences like that formed bonds that were unshakeable.

Conflicted and frightened, she met Morris' gaze again, and his smile, though tremulous, was genuine. He put her cloak in her hands, folded her fingers over the material, and squeezed them briefly. "I'll meet you on the other side."

Gwen nodded, her smile just as unsteady. She almost felt as though she would cry, and it was only her shear force of will that stopped her. "I'll hold you to that, Mr Tumnus."

and she ran.

As the haunting melody of Morris' reed pipes whispered through the trees, she didn't look back.

_To be continued._

**Note:** '- Mr Tumnus' is a character from C.S Lewis' 'Chronicles of Narnia'.

- 'The Sweetest Sin' is adopted from the Boys Like Girls song 'Hero/Heroine'.

**Author's Note:** This one has a plot that takes place along the same timeline as 'The Lightning Thief'. I don't know how many chapters it will be, but I'm currently stuck on Chapter 7, though that's mostly because I'm in a 'can't-be-bother-to-do-anything' kind of mood. Hope you enjoyed. Drop me a review. Until next time, -t.


	2. Chapter 2: Sacrifice

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two: Sacrifice**

To Gwen, the concept of sacrifice was not a foreign one. Her grandfather, Charlus, had laid down his life for her, her father, James, had quit the Auror Corps to raise her, and Gwen herself had sacrificed the prospect of a (relatively) normal life to be a hero, to fight the good fight, and what have you.

She hadn't had to, really, just as her grandfather hadn't had to step in front of a killing curse for her, and as her father hadn't had to give up his career. She could have said no, had her demigod strength bound, and her memory of the truth erased, but though the life of a hero wasn't an easy one, Gwen had always known that 'right' and 'easy' were rarely ever the same.

And yet, she thought her choice had been the easiest one she'd ever made.

That said, she'd also thought that, in the wake of her own capabilities, the days of other people sacrificing themselves for her were over, and a part of her silently raged at the injustice of it all.

She'd not even known Morris for a week.

With a grimace, and her breaths heavy, Gwen settled herself at the base of the Camp Halfblood pine tree, her bag strapped to her back, and her daggers gripped in an unrelenting hold. They'd been lifelines in these last few days, and she'd not let them out of her sight anytime soon.

She waited for what seemed an age, but blessedly, Morris appeared through the undergrowth, munching an apple, cool as a cucumber, and as though he'd _not_ just willingly kept himself within a ring of up to thirteen monsters - just to keep her safe. Although incredulous at the sight, she was just relieved at the sight of him, whole and well, and her shoulders eased.

Gwen wasn't sure how she'd ever be able to repay him that debt, but as he approached her, and Gwen smiled, she thought she could start by keeping him as a friend for life. He'd gone above and beyond the call of duty - for her - and besides that, he was a pretty cool companion, with a thing for classic rock, and saving the planet.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Morris said, "But no matter. Are you ready to enter Camp Halfblood?"

"You bet," Gwen replied, "There's a hot shower calling my name."

Morris smiled, and led her down the other side of the hill at a leisurely trot.

Gwen herself took in the site of Camp Halfblood as she descended, and the view took her breath away. It was almost ageless in the noonday sun, Grecian architecture like she'd never seen before, and a sight to behold besides.

The grounds were on the farthest point of Long Island with the coast ending at a series of cliffs on the far end of camp. A well worn path led down to the beach itself, but before then, her gaze travelled over the ageless forest, the strange amalgam of buildings, and the blend of campers, and non-campers, therein.

It was completely different from anything she'd ever known, and Gwen adored the campgrounds within moments.

"We're going to see Chiron and Mr D," Morris explained, and he guided her towards a big blue house, three storeys high, with a wrap around balcony, and two men on the porch. "They've been waiting for you."

Gwen grimaced at the thought of meeting strangers while so filthy. She'd not showered in three days, she wreaked of a London sewer, not to mention everything else, and her governess would probably have a fit. She subconsciously reached for her braid, and was summarily swatted for the effort. it wasn't the first time - evidently, Morris took offence to the concept of tidiness - but this time, she conceded, and begrudgingly followed her new friend up the porch steps, and towards the two men quickly introduced as Chiron, activities director, and Mr D, camp coordinator.

Chiron was an aged fellow, with kind, wise brown eyes, and sandy brown hair that greyed at the temple. He wore a tweed jacket over an oxford shirt, occupied a wheelchair, but seemed to possess the patience - and warmth - that the second individual did not.

Alternatively, Mr D wore a pair of bermuda shorts, a hawaiian print shirt, and Fifa World Cup themed flip flops. It was an eyesore that seemed to contradict, or enhance, the hungover look on the man's face: bloodshot eyes, a ruddy nose and cheeks, and a squinted purple gaze that, despite their apparently hungover state, seemed to look right through her.

All in all, together and individually, the two adults, and their presence in camp, was oddly contradictory, and remarkably intimidating besides, but Gwen wasn't about to question it.

"This is Gwen Potter," Morris informed them, "Safe and sound."

Gwen strained a smile, and Chiron welcomed her kindly. Mr D only grunted, and asked if she played Pinochle. She didn't - more familiar with the different poker games Sirius had taught her in the name of corruption, but she was willing to learn, and that seemed to please the coordinator, who seemed to radiate a power far stronger, and far older, than magic.

It didn't take her long to make the leap from 'powerful' to 'Olympian', but the matter of _whom_ had yet to be established, and Gwen wasn't going to go prying. In the same vein, she'd also realised Chiron was _that_ Chiron - legendary trainer of heroes - and a question to Morris later would confirm that, yes, Chiron was actually a centaur, with a magical wheelchair that somehow contained his horse half whenever he desired to go incognito.

"Did you encounter any monsters?"

"Five before we left London," she answered laconically, "Five more before we reached Manhattan. Morris held off thirteen just beyond the camp's borders. It's as though they were actively hunting me."

"I would not be surprised," Chiron answered, "You carry the strength of Lady Athena and Lady Hecate in your veins. And that is, of course, disregarding your mother."

Her father, James, a son of Athena. Her grandfather, in turn, a son of Hecate. She'd known for as long as her own divine parentage, and yet, she could barely wrap her head around the concept.

Perhaps, with time, it wouldn't be such a foreign prospect, but for the moment, Gwen supposed she had other things to concern herself with.

"You will be very powerful," Chiron observed, "And your scent indicates that. No doubt, the Olympians will expect great things from you. After all, not everyone is marked by the fates."

Gwen remembered another conversation with another old man, and shivered minutely. It had been four years ago, but it was a conversation she'd never been able to forget, particularly after her last confrontation with Voldemort - and the first against her brother wand. It had been a defining moment in her life, and those weren't easily set aside.

Great things, indeed.

"Morris, perhaps you can show Guinevere around the campgrounds? I'm sure she's curious. Cabin 10 is ready for you, Gwen, when you wish to settle in."

Morris acquiesced, and Gwen followed him off the porch. Her shoulders eased the longer they walked away from the two powerful figures, and Gwen took in the sites with curious eyes. Morris babbled ceaselessly beside her, pointing out landmarks, and what have you, apparently oblivious to the scrutiny they were both under, or at the very least, heedless of it.

In contrast, Gwen eyed the campers, blonde and brunette, redheads and ravenettes, pale, olive toned, and darker, blue eyes, green eyes, brown and grey and purple. She smiled at those who smiled at her, and watched the others who watched her in turn, and wondered idly what they thought of her.

"You're not what they expected," Morris told her, and Gwen reminded herself of the empathy link they shared, "They didn't think you'd be so different from your sisters."

Gwen glanced down at her feet, caught sight of the wound on her arm she'd received at the teeth of the hellhound, and mused over how much it had healed. A gift from the phoenix tears still in her bloodstream, but always a marvel to look at. It would be completely gone within the hour. Quick healing capabilities, she thought, would only come in useful in the coming days.

"A princess," she deadpanned, and Morris rolled his eyes.

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?"

"Not a chance, Mr Tumnus."

She'd opened the front door of her father's Mayfair townhouse, had stared at the satyr there, and had called for her father. The satyr, still a stranger then, had mumbled something about Gwen and 'pretty as a princess', Gwen had chuckled, and shortly thereafter, she'd learned the truth of her parentage.

A part of Gwen still couldn't believe it, and yet, the truth was all around her, and her father had never lied about her mother before. Gwen had known that her mother was alive, but had not been able to keep her, and she had not asked anymore questions. She'd wondered, of course, but with James, Sirius and Remus more or less drowning the girl in their love and support, she hadn't felt as though she'd missed out on much. There were moments, of course, where she'd longed for the presence of a maternal figure in her life so much it had almost hurt, but those moments were few and far between, and Gwen herself had gotten over the absence well enough.

As a camper approached, clad in a Camp Halfblood tank top, and a camouflage jacket over it, Gwen pulled herself from her thoughts, crossed her arms over her chest, and warily eyed the stockier girl. She wasn't particularly ugly, but neither was she pretty, and the nasty grin on her face did the girl no favours either. With her posse behind her - really, there was no other word for them - it was evident she was the camp's resident bully, and Gwen couldn't say she was particularly impressed.

"Clarisse," Morris greeted, "Is this really necessary?"

"Is what really needed?" Gwen enquired, but judging by Morris expression, it couldn't be anything good.

"We have a tradition for new campers," Clarisse answered, "A rite of passage, if you will. And _you_, my dear, are a new camper."

Uninterested in finding out what _that_ was about, Gwen infused her magic into her voice, met CLarisse's gaze, and took advantage of what her father had once explained was called her 'charm speak'.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Gwen took hold of Morris' arm, marched past the campers, and made her way to the clearly labelled cabin 10. It was a hideously bright shade of pink, a real life dollhouse like she'd never seen, but the door was open, and something sweet wafted out from within. She looked at Morris, strangely anxious, and he gave her an encouraging grin.

"They're waiting for you, Gwen. Go on, you won't regret it."

Gwen nodded slowly, smiled confidently at her friend, and made to step onto the porch. Before she stepped inside, however, she turned, and addressed him. "And Morris?"

The satyr paused in his steps, turned, and eyed her curiously. "Yeah?"

She met his gaze, solemn, and smiled slightly. "Thanks - for everything."

Morris grinned, easy, and almost carefree. It appeared he'd relaxed completely within the safety of the camp's borders, and Gwen didn't blame him. After three days of constant threats, it was amazing to feel safe again. She contemplated the offer her father had made, to let her remain at Camp Halfblood year round, and supposed she'd have to think about it further. It was tempting, however.

"What are friends for?"

Gwen's responding smile was bright. She liked the sound of that - she liked it a lot. Though she was perpetually surrounded by her peers at school, she could perhaps list her genuine friends with one hand, and it was always nice to befriend others.

"What are friends for," she echoed, and a teasing smirk followed, "In that case, I'll catch you later, Mr Tumnus."

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Morris agreed, and he walked away. Gwen didn't watch him leave. Instead, she braced herself, and she stepped over the threshold into the cabin that would be her home for, at the very least, the next three months.

**Author's Note:** I'm only posting this one now, because you can find the original post in my 'Odds and Ends' collection. Suffice to say, it's been heavily edited since then. In any case, I'm thinking weekly updates, on Friday nights/Saturday mornings, but we'll see how I go. Hope you've enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Leave a review. Until next time, -t.


	3. Chapter 3: Scrutiny

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Three: Scrutiny**

When she entered the cabin that reminded Gwen of something out of one of her childhood Barbie sets, the witch was unsurprised to find herself under the critical attention of her newfound half-siblings. Some taller, some shorter, a mix of colouring and ages, they were all clad in pastels and designer labels, and Gwen, who'd always preferred colours of the bold variety, and alternative fashion statements, felt as though she'd just walked into her own brand of cookie-cutter hell.

In the doorway, and too used to the attention at Hogwarts, Gwen didn't fidget under the scrutiny of her fellow demigods, and instead, she scrutinised right back, met her fellow campers' gazes with defiance in her own, and it wasn't difficult to seek out the leader among her new siblings. The girl, or rather, young woman, was tall and pretty, with black hair and blue eyes, an impish grin, and an almost sensual sort of confidence she wore like armour.

The others orbited around her, like planets around their sun, and Gwen could see no dissension among the ranks. Their loyalty was admirable, as much as the reality the counsellor had _earned_ that loyalty, and Gwen wondered briefly where she'd fit in, if she would at all. She wondered also what the counsellor had done to afford that kind of trust, that unwavering faith in the older girl's ability to lead them, but then decided she was looking far too much into things, and dropped that train of thought before it could really get going.

"Guinevere, isn't it?"

"Gwen," she corrected reflexively, "And you are Silena Beauregard."

"That's right," she confirmed, "And these are my siblings - yours too, now - Drew, Casey…"

The older camper continued on, Gwen committed names and faces to memory, and she was appointed a bed shortly thereafter. She made herself at home, made awkward small talk with the siblings who'd lingered, and when she was done, made a beeline for the girls' communal showers.

She'd not had such a luxury in three days, and the smell she'd put up with since her first monster kill wasn't getting any better.

As she showered, Gwen pondered the concept of siblings and smiled. She thought she might like being a sister.

"What's London like?"

"Wet," Gwen answered mildly, "Cold, I guess. Crowded. I don't know - it's home. I don't really think about it."

"You make it sound so appealing," Drew deadpanned, and the Potter heiress grinned, sheepish.

Gwen caught her own gaze in the mirror, applied her liquid eyeliner, and considered herself ready for dinner. She had switched her purple skinny leg jeans for a fire engine red pair, a thin, leather belt hung loose on her hips, and a white t-shirt, on which was a mess of black, grey and red flowers, was covered by her beloved, well worn biker jacket. She still wore her boots, and her hair had been left out to frame her face, a tumble of loose, thick curls that reached her waist, a rich black, but accented by magical colour-change streaks currently coloured silver.

"You have an interesting taste in clothing," Silena observed, leant against her own bunk bed, as the rest of the Aphrodite siblings primped and preened around them.

The exception was the three boys, who apparently could only deal with so much prettification in one day, because they'd opted to occupy the rest of their time with a game of poker, and Gwen was almost tempted to join them. She had a mean poker face, which apparently happened when one had played since the age of seven, and she was fiercely competitive to boot. She hadn't played in a while though, and the witch wouldn't mind dusting off her skills.

"I was raised predominantly by three men," Gwen explained mildly, "My father, whose clueless when it comes to women's fashion, my godfather, whose aim in life is to corrupt me as much as possible, and my pseudo uncle, whose just clueless about women in general. It made for quite the masculine influence on my clothing choices. I mean, I like dresses and shoes as much as the next girl, but I'll always wear my skinny jeans and biker boots whenever I can."

"I get that," Silena acknowledged, "It's just different. I don't think the others know what to think about it."

"They don't need to think about it," Gwen answered logically, "It's not _their_ clothing choice - it's mine. I just hope you don't expect me to wear pastels."

Silena chuckled, call the cabin to order, and led the way to the dining pavilion.

As the newest camper, Gwen brought up the rear, her arms crossed beneath her not inconsiderable chest, and her gaze on the path in front of her. Even then, she wasn't oblivious to the sight of the camp in the evening sun, and though the Apollo cabin, illuminated golden by the sunset, nearly blinded her, she couldn't deny that the intrinsic majesty of the camp took her breath away.

Again.

Gwen was guided through the usual evening sacrifice to their divine parent, was claimed as she dropped a handful of plump strawberries into the brazier, and was treated to the entertaining sight of campers attempting to bow without spilling their food off their plates. She was settled at the end of the Aphrodite cabin, welcomed as 'Gen Parker' by Mr D, and afterwards, she dug eagerly into the Greek fare in front of her, famished despite herself. The last three days had been spent living off of cereal bars and juice boxes, and Gwen thought she'd never been so grateful for real food in her life.

"What was your trip to Camp Halfblood like? Did you run into any monsters?" Tyra, one of the younger sisters, enquired.

"Yes," Gwen confirmed, "It was exhausting. I've never been more grateful for my father's insistence on training - I would have been ridiculously unprepared, otherwise, and when I brought up the possibility, Chiron agreed that it was likely I'd been intentionally hunted."

"Why, though?" Blake, one of the few demigod sons of Aphrodite, enquired. "Why would they hunt you? Children of Aphrodite aren't particularly powerful."

Mildly perturbed by that assessment, because she had _never_ been considered _weak_ before, Gwen gnawed on her bottom lip, and explained, "My father is a son of Athena. My grandfather, similarly, is a son of Hecate. Apparently, it makes me something of a beacon to monsters everywhere."

Gwen didn't mention the other thing Chiron had brought up. She'd still not come to terms with it herself, the reality that she'd not only been fated to kill Voldemort, but had actually been successful in the endeavor. The night in the graveyard still haunted her dreams, and these days, it didn't matter anyway, since Voldemort was dead and wasn't coming back, and Gwen was no longer burdened by the unwelcome weight of prophecy.

Instead, it was the phantom sensation of blood on her hands that haunted Gwen, and that, the witch thought, was something that would never go away.

"What are you trained in?" Silena enquired, and thus successfully pulled the witch from that dark train of thought.

Gwen rattled off her list of accomplishments in martial arts, proficiency in swords, daggers, and archery, magical duelling, and basic healing, before she finished off with everything else she intended to attain, but yet hadn't begun.

"I was homeschooled until I was eleven," she explained, unsurprised by the incredulous glances sent her way, "It gave me more time to focus on less academic pursuits. Even then, my father insisted I at least sit my O and A levels, if not the magical equivalents, so I'm sitting two lots of major exams at the end of next school year - yippee."

"Your dad didn't coddle you, then?"

Gwen snorted. "Oh, yes he did. But he's also a son of Athena - one of the few demigods of his generation lucky enough to reach adulthood, and that's only because he's also a wizard. He wouldn't _dream_ of letting me into this world without preparation first. He's too pragmatic for that."

As her siblings pondered over all that she'd said, Gwen focused on her dinner, but her mind wandered back to the graveyard, and she couldn't push back the memories if she tried any harder. Instead, she was stuck reliving the memory of Voldemort's hellish resurrection, and the death eaters, and the absolute relief she'd felt, in hindsight, for the fact that Cedric Diggory had forfeited the tournament after his brief bout of cruciatus exposure, that Krum and Fleur were unwillingly forfeited too, which ensured that she'd been the only one to experience the fresh hell that had awaited her on the other end of the trophy's port key.

Even after she'd been rescued by her father and his two best friends, even as the frayed ends of her mind were carefully knit back together, as her wounds healed, and scars faded, Gwen, and everyone else, had known without words that the fourteen year old would never be the same again. She was older, jaded, with a darkness in her eyes that hadn't been there previously, and an unfortunate awareness of all the ugly the world could give.

In saying that, her experience allowed Gwen to see the beauty in the world all that clearer. She could still smile, could still appreciate the simple things, like the love of her father, and the loyalty of her friends. She could hope, too, which was why she'd been so eager for Camp Halfblood to begin with, and in particular, all of the opportunities it presented. And so she smiled to herself over her meal, savoured in the lemonade she drank, and silently prayed for a brighter future than the past she was ready to leave behind.

"Are you looking forward to the campfire?" Silena queried.

It had been all her new siblings had been able to talk about over dinner, and despite herself, Gwen found that, yes, she was excited. From what she'd ascertained from the chatter of the Aphrodite children, the Apollo campers were ridiculously talented musicians, and actors, and as an unrelated non-sequitur, archers and healers as well. Despite her own distinct lack of musical talent, she found herself eager to see if their words were at all exaggerated, and so she nodded in response to Silena's question, her hands shoved in her jacket's pockets as they made their way to the amphitheatre.

Gwen settled beside the Aphrodite cabin counsellor, and found herself impressed by the quality of talent displayed by the Apollo campers. Most of them hammed up their performance for the sake of their audience, but there was one, with dark hair and an olive complexion, who appeared lost in his music, to the point that he seemed completely oblivious to everything else around him.

It intrigued her, the presence of a stranger so intensely passionate about his art, an Gwen, of course, had always been governed by her own curiosity. It didn't help that what she could see of him was spectacular, tall, broad shouldered, long legs and dark brown curls, and so very, very dexterous fingers.

Gwen didn't have long to appreciate the view, however, because his performance came to an end three songs later, the conch horn was sounded, and the witch followed her tired siblings back to their cabin. She changed into her pyjamas - dark green sleep shorts, and whatever comfortable shirt she could find, raced to the communal bathrooms to clean her teeth and scrub her face, and returned in time for lights out. She dove into her bed, raised a silencing spell around her, and eventually fell to a world of dreams, hopeful for a full night's rest.

Between demigod dreams and her own traumatic nightmares, however, Gwen was unsurprisingly disappointed.

**AUthor's Note:** Leave a review? Until next time, -t.


	4. Chapter 4: Attraction

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Four: Attraction **

Three days into her willing sojourn at Camp Halfblood, Gwen found herself on the archery field, her pink streaked hair in a braid, and her attention on her tutor. he was tall, broad, with a focused expression, with a back she could stare at all day, and with a love for archery that had Gwen certain he'd not appreciate her inattention, flattering as her distraction may be.

The sun beat down on them overhead, mercilessly hot as the summer sunshine usually was, and sweat glistened on her tutor's arms, and the witch was enthralled by the sight.

Gwen was no stranger to physical attraction, but she'd generally known the boys, or young men, before any real attraction had formed. Her response to Michael Yew, however, was sudden and swift, and it left her unsteady, uncertain of what she should do, if anything. Gone was her overt confidence, her ability to play coy, or desirable, or flirt, and in the absence of her confidence, the unabashed awareness and certainty of her own sexuality, she opted to do nothing.

"Have you ever used a bow and arrow before? Michael queried. Chiron had asked him to assess her capabilities as an archer, and apparently, he'd appreciated the opportunity to ditch his role of 'counsellor's assistant' in the beginner's archery class."

Gwen, who wasn't at all complaining, and couldn't blame him besides, nodded her confirmation, fell into the familiar stance, notched her arrow, and raised her bow. The witch could feel his gaze on her, assessing, likely critiquing, and she tried not to let it get to her.

Gwen wasn't an exceptional archer, and nor did she particularly enjoy the bow and arrow, but James Potter had taught his daughter well, and Gwen could certainly hold her own. There was a reason why she was already in the intermediate archery class, after all, and her father had made sure she wouldn't be left floundering if push ever came to shove.

He'd said, years ago, that the skill might just save her life one day. She'd been eight then, and the frank reference to her mortality had scared her to tears, but her father hadn't wavered, and after his brutal honesty, the girl hadn't complained further. She'd not fully understood why he'd been so determined to train Gwen in all he could, but hindsight was 20/20, and Gwen could only be grateful.

With that in mind, and without hesitation, she took aim, pulled back, and released. The arrow flew, struck the target, vibrated in it's place in the second ring from the bullseye, and Gwen smiled, pleased. She'd not practised in some time - not properly, in any case - but it appeared Gwen still had it.

"I've been trained to an intermediate level with most weapons," she explained, "Dad was determined I be as prepared as possible before I learn of my heritage. I mean, I'm no expert, but I'm passable, aren't I?"

Michael Yew scrutinised the target, scrutinised her form, and nodded to himself. His brows were furrowed, and he absently fletched an arrow as he thought something over, but then he seemed to come to a decision in his mind, because he deposited the arrow in his shouldered quiver, stepped up behind her, and settled his hands on her hips. Her eyes widened at the contact, surprised beyond belief, Gwen stiffened reflexively, but she didn't pull away from his grasp. The daughter of Aphrodite wasn't certain she could if she tried. His hands were like hot brands through the material of her tank top, and the heightened awareness was just ridiculous.

"You're just the slightest bit out of line," he explained, rotated her hips, and then knelt to adjust her feet. "It's why you missed the bullseye, but you're good. Your dad knows his stuff."

"He's a master archer," Gwen explained, but her heart raced, and she wondered dazedly if he could tell, "One of the few out of Cabin 6, last he heard."

The son of Apollo blinked his surprise, but he didn't pursue the topic further. Instead, he got to his feet, angled her shoulders, and stepped back with a satisfied nod. He gestured for her to try again, Gwen did so, and couldn't say she was particularly surprised when her arrow struck home. Instinct told her that in the field of archery, Michael Yew was rarely wrong.

"Do you want to work on that some more?"

Gwen shrugged. They still had an hour left of the archery class, Chiron was occupied with the other intermediate level archers, and it wasn't as though she had anything better to do with her time.

"I might as well make my father proud," she answered, notched another arrow, and released it in time to watch Michael strike the bullseye thrice consecutively. It was like watching a dance, all fluid motions, and unfaltering grace. His face was set in an expression of unshakeable confidence, his fingers didn't fumble, and unsurprisingly, his certainty left her breathless.

She would always appreciate a person's confidence.

"How long have you been an archer?" She queried, once both their quivers were empty. There were others still firing, and Chiron hadn't cleared them to retrieve their arrows, but she could see that the son of Apollo had somehow arranged a sunburst on his target, and the sight made her grin. His speed and accuracy, as well, were something to be admired, and Gwen was undeniably impressed.

"Three years," he answered succinctly, focus on the bow in his hand. He didn't pursue the small talk further.

With the uncomfortable, and plainly awkward, impression that her attention was unwelcome, Gwen settled herself on the ground to wait for Chiron to give the all clear, withdrew her rubix cube from her satchel, and entertained herself with the puzzle until Chiron's whistle sounded across the archery field.

She retrieved her arrows, returned her bow and quiver to the storage shed, and shouldered her satchel, thoughts already on the climbing wall. Morris had promised he'd meet her there, but her mind was on the question of whether or not she was prepared for the danger it presented. Demigods were more durable than most every other mortal alive, and Godric knew she finally understood why her father and godfather had insisted on a bi-weekly visit to the rock climbing range every summer, but anxiety had reared it's ugly head, and it wasn't so easily abated.

"Can I use a flame freezing spell?" She queried, wary gaze on the flames overhead. They spouted from wall to wall, and in accompaniment with the boulders that seemed to fall from nowhere, and the parts of the walls that regularly smashed together, she'd never seen a climbing challenge so lethal.

"No," Charles Beckendorf, Hephaestus cabin counsellor, denied, "Don't worry. You'll be fine."

Gwen gave the older camper a skeptical glance, but she donned the helmet and harness offered to her with a sigh. They were probably redundant, given the inherent danger the wall presented, but they were a comfort, if nothing else, and Gwen could almost pretend she wasn't at risk of being squashed like an ant under someone's shoe. She approached the wall, and began to climb. She reached out with her magic and the wall, or perhaps just her magic, provided Gwen with a heightened sense of awareness that allowed her to avoid thrown boulders, and tongues of searing flames, and the agonising looking stone sandwich barely a foot to her right.

It was hard work, and her muscles burned with the exertion, but eventually, she even reached the top, where she waved the Aphrodite Cabin flag waiting up there, and luxuriated in the uproarious cheers from below. She descended with a grin on her face, accepted the hug offered by Silena, and was still riding her high through dinner, certain she'd not felt so accomplished, or satisfied, since she'd achieved her black belt in Judo over the winter holidays.

It turned out that the climbing wall, though a physical challenge, was just as much a psychological one as well. It was specifically designed to test a person's trust in their own instincts, and most campers were only permitted to attempt it if Chiron and Mr D approved the attempt, first.

The trust in her abilities was humbling and flattering all at once.

"I heard we're going to get a new camper soon," Drew informed their siblings, and Gwen arched a quizzical eyebrow, "I heard Annabeth talking about it to Luke. Grover Underwood is his keeper, apparently."

There were grim, almost morbid, murmurs about how well that had turned out last time, but Gwen didn't want to know the details, so she focused on her dinner instead, chased it down with raspberry lemonade, and chatted idly with Silena about her thoughts of camp thus far.

"It's kind of scary," she admitted, "There have been moments in my life where I've been certain I won't live past the next hour, but here, everyone's just so casual about their own mortality. It's kind of confronting, if I'm being honest."

Perhaps she should have been used to it, because despite those nights where he'd held her when she was small, James Potter had never sugarcoated anything in the name of protection. He'd been honest about the war, about the deaths he'd observed and the friends he'd lost, and when she'd learned of her divine heritage, he'd been honest about _those_ deaths too. Her father had lost a lot of people in the name of heroism, and Gwen admired his ability to continue on, regardless.

""It's because we've seen a lot of people die here," Silena explained quietly, "People come, leave, and they never return. Sometimes, they don't even make it to camp. We're not numbed to it - not really - but we're never particularly surprised, either. Ironic as it may be, it's just a part of our lives now."

Gwen nodded her acknowledgement, able to understand that sentiment. in almost the same way she could recognise all of the ugly in the world, they could all recognise their own mortality, too. She wondered if it made them appreciate life more, but she didn't ask, uncertain if such an enquiry was welcome, and unwilling to pry if it wasn't.

For the same reason, Gwen didn't ask if Silena regretted her choice to become a hero. it seemed too personal a question, particularly over the dinner table, and instead, she finished her souvlaki, and the dessert of fresh fruits offered after it, and followed her cabin to the amphitheatre for another campfire.

There, she propped her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her palms. She closed her eyes to the sound of Michael Yew's guitar, listened to him perform a cover of Iron and Wine's 'Each Coming Night', and thought she could listen to him until his voice went hoarse, and the stars faded in the sky.

His voice was beautiful, velvet and sultry, somewhere between a tenor and a baritone, with an almost tangible melancholy in every word he sang. It made her chest feel heavy, and Gwen supposed if she left Camp Halfblood with nothing, she'd at least have the memory of his voice in her ear, an echo in her mind,, and absolutely unforgettable.

Eventually, though, one of his brothers took his place, and Gwen spent the rest of the night eating smores and drinking coke laced with vodka. One of the hermes siblings' work, or perhaps one of the Dionysus brothers, no doubt, but Gwen was content not to find out - plausible deniability, and all.

That night, as Gwen slept on, lost in a world of fitful dreams, the voice of a nameless, faceless fear in her ears, while her new siblings slumbered peacefully around her, a storm raged overhead, Grover Underwood lay unconscious, and a young boy's life would never be the same again.


	5. Chapter 5: Temper

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Five: Temper**

The next day, Percy Jackson was all Camp Halfblood could talk about. The campers were like a gaggle of clucking hens, hypothesising, regurgitating hearsay, and by the time noon arrived, Percy Jackson - Minotaur defeater - had become something of a local legend, and Gwen Potter had become an irritable mess.

It probably didn't help that she'd woken that morning bloated, and with abdominal cramps, but generally speaking, Gwen didn't care for gossip, having been the focal point of it too often in her life, and she had no interest in sharing rumours and theories as a child shared sweets.

Before long, however, she came face to face with the newest resident of Camp Halfblood, and Gwen found him sorely lacking. it wasn't anything physical, really, though she thought he'd grow to be rather handsome, but instead, it was the way he blatantly stared at her, as though he'd never seen a girl before. Gwen, who'd been stood with Silena and Drew, only grew more temperamental under the scrutiny. It was mean of her to glare back at the boy as she had, but she'd never appreciated that kind of gaping, and she wasn't going to start now.

"That wasn't very nice," Silena chided lightly, once the boy and Chiron were out of hearing range, and Gwen muttered unintelligibly under her breath. "He's just a kid."

"He's old enough to know better than to stare like a demented guppy," Gwen refuted, roughly swiped the cloth along the blade in her hand, and retrieved a slice across her palm for her efforts. "Bloody fucking Godric!"

"Okay," Silena settled her sword beside Gwen's, pulled a handkerchief from genuinely nowhere, and wound it around Gwen's hand, "Time to go find one of the Apollo siblings. That looks deep."

Gwen, face flushed red with temper, her teeth gritted, walked alongside her two sisters - the closest in age to her - towards the archery fields where, to no one's surprise, they found the three eldest Apollo siblings in the midst of an advanced archery class. Lee Fletcher watched their approach with a curious expression on his face, caught sight of the blood soaked cloth in Gwen's hand, and approached with a mildly concerned frown. She'd met him her second day there, on the insistence of Drew, naturally, and it was fairly obvious why the older girl was so smitten with the cabin seven counsellor.

Lee Fletcher was tall and lean, with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He looked like a stereotypical surfer dude, with his hair bleached by the sun, and his skin lightly tanned. He had an easy smile, accentuated by his handsome features, and all in all, he was rather attractive. Beyond that though, he was funny, and outgoing, and perhaps if Gwen wasn't so taken by the enigma that was his younger half brother, Gwen might have been envious of Drew's interest. As it was, however, Gwen strictly abided by the ever unspoken 'Girl Code', and she would never infringe on another friend's - another sister's - territory.

"What happened?" He queried.

"Gwen took offence to that new kid - what's his name? -" Silena answered, "She accidentally sliced her palm open when she was explaining to us that he was old enough to know better than to stare at pretty girls."

"That was after she traumatised him with the bitch glare from Tartarus," Drew contributed glibly, and the son of Apollo, Lee, cracked an amused grin.

"Can I take a look?" Lee asked Gwen, and she nodded, carefully watching him as he unwound the handkerchief from her palm. "It looks pretty deep, but no sweat, you won't be losing a hand or anything like that."

"Goody," Gwen quipped, and by then, Michael and another of his brothers, Will, had approached.

They chattered between themselves for a few moments, before Lee withdrew a fresh handkerchief from his pocket, wound it around her hand, and gave Gwen a comforting smile.

"Mike's going to take you to the healing bay. He'll patch you up in no time."

Gwen was led to the big blue house by Michael, who settled her on a nondescript hospital bed, shuffled around the room for a few moments, and returned with a bottle of disinfectant, latex gloves, and a handful of cotton swabs. He set to work, singing as he did so, And Gwen grimaced her way through the antiseptic sting, but watched, curious, as her blood clotted, and the gash knitted itself back together before her eyes.

"Is that how the healing works? By singing?"

"More or less," he confirmed. Blandly, he added, "Of course, I could have healed you the wizard's way, but that's not really approved here. Chiron encourages us to to improve our demigod powers whenever possible."

The cotton swabs and the used handkerchiefs were thrown into a biological waste bin, the disinfectant was returned to its cupboard, and Gwen was helped to her feet by the snarkiest of the Apollo siblings. He towered over her, at least 6'" to her 5'3".

"Thank you for healing me, then," Gwen acknowledged absently, preoccupied by his revelation. The boy was a wizard, and somehow it hadn't occurred to her to consider that she wouldn't be the only magical in Camp Halfblood. She closed her fist, and added, "I owe you one."

"No problem," he answered flippantly, led the way back out of the house, and added, "It's what I do."

Gwen met his gaze, bright blue and turbulent, smiled slightly, and walked with him until their paths diverged. He looked like the stereotypical Greek, with olive skin, blue eyes, and silky black hair, and she supposed his mother was Mediterranean, because Gwen didn't think he could have gotten his complexion from anywhere else.

They reached the divergence in their paths, bade farewell to each other, and from there, she made her way back to the armoury, and wound up as a spectator to a confrontation between Clarisse, the brutish daughter of Aries, Annabeth, the counsellor of the Athena cabin, and Percy, Camp Halfblood's newest resident before she reached it.

"What are you looking at, princess?" Clarisse barked at her, and Gwen arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. The middle finger she raised in the daughter of Aries' direction indicated as much, and Gwen continued on her way, once again uninterested in learning about the rite of passage for the new campers unfortunate enough to cross paths with Clarisse La Rue.

Inside the armoury, Gwen dropped into her seat, picked up the sword and cloth she'd vacated, and began to polish with a grimace on her face. On either side of her, Drew and Silena shared curious expressions, before Drew raised the question they were both wondering.

"Something happen with Mike?"

"No," Gwen answered, "Sorry. Just… irritable."

They clucked their commiseration, needing no further explanation, and conversation turned to other things, like Silena's crush on Charles Beckendorf, and Drew's reciprocal flirtation with Lee Fletcher. Gwen mostly listened, but she contributed with her own commentary now and then, but before she could brace herself for it, Silena turned to her, and the witch supposed it had been too much to ask to escape the gossiping without any questions about _her_ romantic life - or lack thereof.

"What about you, Gwen? Anyone you're interested in?"

Gwen's thoughts briefly flickered to Michael Yew, but she shrugged nonchalantly, dropped her sword into the 'to be sharpened' pile, and picked up another. She wasn't particularly _interested_ in the son of Apollo - mainly just attracted to him - and there was a whole world of difference between the two.

"Not really," she answered, "I'm just… appreciating the view these days."

The two girls shared grins, leant forward, and requested more information. Gwen herself rolled her eyes, but with an exaggerated sigh, she proceeded to go into extensive detail about her _appreciation_ for Michael Yew's arms, and shoulders, and back - and the rest of him too - and her two companions soaked it up, eyes wide, expressions open, and ridiculously delighted grins on their pretty faces.

Before long though, their chore session came to an end, and the trio headed their separate ways with plans to meet in the cabin later. They'd grown fairly close in her time at Camp Halfblood, inevitable with the close quarters and what have you. It didn't matter that they were very different people, because their differences allowed their personalities to mesh well, and Gwen supposed this was what having sisters was like.

Gwen shouldered her backpack, made her way to the training arena, and found that she shared the armed combat session with the Dionysus, Demeter, and Athena cabins. Apparently, she was an oddity amongst her siblings, and where Gwen had volunteered for as many combative sessions as possible, most of the others took the bear minimum, and no more.

Silena said it was her Athena legacy shining through, but Gwen, as she withdrew her father's switchblade that wasn't, and thumbed the twin rings on her fingers, couldn't care less _where_ she got it from. As a demigod, she was just grateful that she had a skill for combat at all, because she was pretty sure she'd have been the most recent occupant of the family crypt, otherwise, and Gwen was certain that she still had too much to live for to die so young.

Luke Castellan, Hermes cabin counsellor, among other things, approached Gwen, a charming smile on his face, and a sword in his hand. It was a strange contradiction, but as he enquired about her history with weapons, and Gwen explained her preference for twin daggers over swords, she appreciated that he seemed to take her seriously, more so when he introduced her to an older camper named Jane. She was a daughter of Hermes, who could teach Gwen the finer details of combat with twin daggers, and who could also introduce her to the basics of staves, and half an hour into the session, Gwen thought the girl could teach Gwen a whole lot more than that, too.

"Study a person's movements long enough, and you'll pick up tells," Jane lectured, "You'll be able to predict their next move, and it will advantage you phenomenally in combat. Same goes for monsters, but they're mildly easier, given that most of them have a limited range of movement…"

By the end of the session, Gwen was covered in a film of sweat, and her muscles were leaden, but she'd already learned a lot, and she would only learn more as the summer went by. The thought brought a smile to her face, so once she'd thanked Jane for her time, and the spars the pair had indulged in, Gwen retreated to the Aphrodite cabin, quietly grateful that her armed combat activity was the last session in her Monday, Wednesday and Friday schedule. She had an hour and a half of assigned free time until dinner, and she intended to use that time for a shower, and to write a letter home.

And that was exactly what she did, and afterwards, once her letters had been sent off with her house elf, Dancer, and she was feeling a great deal more human than she had been earlier, Gwen settled herself on one of the picnic tables, withdrew a sketchpad and a few charcoal pencils from her bag, and began to sketch out lifelike depictions of the places, and the people, who'd already made Camp Halfblood so memorable for her.

As she did so, the newest daughter of Aphrodite thought that choosing to attend Camp Halfblood, regardless of the dangers and her father's fears, had been the best decision of her life. Come what may, and regardless of the repercussions of her choice, it was one Gwen hoped she'd never come to regret. Not for anything in the world.

**Author's Note:** if you were a demigod, whose child would you be?


	6. Chapter 6: Nameless

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or Percy Jackson. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Six: **

At the outer edge of the campfire, Gwen rested her weight on her hands, tilted her head backwards, and glanced up at the moon and stars above. The sky was clear, as it always was in Camp Halfblood, and she'd only ever seen so many stars at Hogwarts, where the air wasn't polluted by modern day chemicals and other such industrial trash. Wind flew through the camp, a gentle summer breeze that fluttered her sable hair and stirred the leaves in the forest, and with Lee Fletcher serenading them all with a cover of Jason Mraz's 'I'm Yours', the witch couldn't remember the last time she'd been so content.

As her brothers and sisters gossiped in quiet whispers around her, Gwen closed her eyes to the music, hummed along to the lyrics, and smiled to herself, certain she'd found another home among her fellow campers, and uncertain of how her demigod father, godfather and uncle had ever been able to leave.

Leave they had, however, when they'd turned eighteen, and joined the war effort against Voldemort, inspired by the heroes of old. She wondered if they'd had any illusions of combat - of glory and honour and strength - and if those perceptions had been torn apart by the gritty, unpleasant reality that had awaited them. She didn't ask though, and simply admired their courage, and one day hoped she'd be as brave as they had been. The people they'd saved, individually or together, still wrote them Christmas cards in a display of undying gratitude, and one day, Gwen wanted to know that she, too, had made an active difference in someone's life.

"What has you so quiet, pretty?" Blake queried. He rested his weight against her side, and the smell of his cologne was pleasant between them. He was perhaps the sibling most like her, though far less combat inclined than she. Rather, he was a lot more similar to her in relation to taste in clothing, and in men, too, but he wasn't a raging flamer, and Gwen could appreciate his lack of theatrics and melodrama. He was kind of cynical, actually, in a way their other siblings were not, and Gwen wondered privately about what had made him so jaded.

"Nothing you need to worry about," she answered fondly, nudged his outstretched leg with her own, and queried, "Why aren't you creating rumours about Percy Jackson?"

"Your rant over lunch left an impression," Blake answered mildly, "I'm sorry I never thought about the subject's side of things sooner. It's horribly demeaning, in hindsight. I don't mean to justify the others, but here in camp, we sort of have to get our entertainment where we can."

"You don't need to change your nature because of me," Gwen answered, "If you enjoy it, than by all means, go barmy - just don't expect me to join in. Gossip gives me ulcers."

Blake laughed, and they listened to Will Solace's performance in a companionable, easy silence. She slumped against her brother, closed her eyes to the sound of Will's cover of Gary Jules' 'Falling Awake', exhausted after her day, and comfortable - _safe_ - in the company of her siblings, all of whom she trusted not to allow harm to befall her. They may have been pacifists, but Gwen already knew they protected their own, and despite the fact she'd not even been there a week, Gwen had become one of theirs, and it was nice to belong somewhere.

She dreamt of her father, James, and Sirius and Remus too, gathered in the family room, Gwen at their feet, an armful of presents in front of her. A Christmas tree illuminated a corner of the room, but a yule log was situated on the mantle, and as they chorused songs for both holidays, Gwen had come to the conclusion that she truly had the best of both worlds.

Gwen remembered that Christmas - her third year - when dementors had been on the prowl for Barty Crouch Junior, but locked away in their Mayfair home, her small family had been safe and happy, and Gwen had decided that it was all she could and would ever ask for.

"It would be nice to keep them safe, wouldn't it?"

Gwen surged awake, the implied threat in those words a bucket of ice water on her dreams, her face pale, and her daggers in hand. She looked around to find that the camp had begun to empty, and with a shake of her head, Gwen collected herself, returned her daggers to their ring form, and walked with Blake to their cabin, thoughts elsewhere.

"Bad dream?" He queried.

"Yeah," she agreed, weary, "Not the usual kind of nightmare I'm treated with."

It was the same nameless, faceless fear that had haunted her dreams since her arrival at Camp Halfblood, and it was just as unwelcome as it had been every night since then. There was nothing Gwen could do about it though, and instead, she focused on her nightly ritual, curled up beneath her sheets, and watched, absently, as the cabin got ready for bed around her. She drifted off before long, however, and when she woke in the morning, tired, hurting, and ready for the next four days to pass, the Gryffindor only hoped her day could get better.

"How did you go with the nymphs?"

Gwen stretched her feet, touched her toes, and grimaced at the reminder of the sound trouncing she had received that morning. Apparently, several millennia of escaping randy Gods meant the tree nymphs were quick little chits, and by merlin, did the witch receive a reality check. She might have been fast, and she was most certainly up there with some of the older Hermes children, but her speed didn't hold a candle to her new acquaintances', and Gwen doubted it ever would.

She could try, though.

It might even save her life one day.

"I have so much left to learn," she murmured, "I thought I'd been prepared for anything, but ever since I got here, it's just been reality check after reality check, and I'm such a long way from being ready to take on the danger outside."

"Don't sell yourself short," Silena chided lightly, "We've seen your bag of spoils, you know. You're more prepared than you give yourself credit for. Just because you're not the best in camp, it doesn't mean you're not good enough."

"Your faith in me is…" Gwen trailed off, unsure.

Silena grinned, knowing and shrewd. "I know what you mean, but I don't know, I guess I just have this feeling about you. You're not like the rest of us - children of Aphrodite, I mean. You're a fighter, I guess. You'll be great, I think - a legend."

Gwen tilted her head back, and the sensation of the sun on her skin made her smile. Her hair was streaked blue that day, Silena's words echoed in her ears, and Gwen wondered about this elusive 'greatness' that everyone expected of her.

"On another note," Silena diverted, "How much does it absolutely _suck_ to lose to a _tree_?"

Gwen snorted, laughed, and nodded her wholehearted agreement, certain she'd not be able to forget an indignity like that for a long time. Silena recalled her own first run with the nymphs, and the conversation flowed, about camp activities, about their respective homes, and school, and friends, and before long, they'd been joined by Drew and Blake, seated in the courtyard as evening fell.

"I'm from Florida," Silena explained, "I used to go home for the school year, but ever since I turned fifteen, there's been an increase of monster activity around me. It was just safer for everyone if I stayed here. Plus, dad got married, and his wife is a plastic, A-grade bitch."

Gwen couldn't really relate to that. Her father had dated a few women over the years, but they'd all been down to earth, genuinely nice, and hadn't minded that they didn't take first priority in her father's life. In the end though, none of them had been the longterm sort, and the separations had all been amicable, if bittersweet. In any case, James was only 35, which was still considered young in wizarding years, and he still had a while to find a woman he'd be willing to grow old with.

"Could be worse," Drew contributed, and Silena conceded the point with a sombre nod.

Gwen had known, abstractly, that demigods were lucky if they had a decent home to go to when away from Camp Halfblood, but the bitterness in Drew's tone, and the sullen silence from Blake, was sobering, and the legacy of Athena was unsure of what to say, if anything. She could only comfort herself with the knowledge that Camp Halfblood was a sanctuary, and it would always remain a home for any camper in need of one.

All the same, she rested her weight against Blake, propped her head on his shoulder, and wished she could take his hurt away. He turned his head, kissed her crown, and the quartet sat in heavy silence, Drew's gaze on the picnic table, Silena's attention on her fingernails, and Gwen's thoughts elsewhere, on the family whom she loved so, and whom she realised, belatedly, that she was so very lucky to have as her own.

She couldn't imagine her life without them in it, and she hoped her friends, Blake and Drew, and anyone else whose family life left much to be desired, could one day know the same love and care as Gwen herself had. After all, a life without, wasn't much of a life at all.

Brought from her reverie by the approach of Will, Lee and Mike, Gwen sat up, and watched, mildly curious, as the three sons of Apollo settled themselves in the available spaces around them. Conversation flowed, mostly between the group, excepting Gwen and Mike, but the pair listened and observed, and it wasn't until the conch horn sounded for dinner that they were disturbed.

"Catch you later," Mike told her, and Gwen nodded her agreement, uncharacteristically speechless. She smiled though, one that was reciprocated with a grin from Mike, and Gwen may have swooned a little bit.

The sons of Apollo walked out of hearing range, the girls watched them leave, and Drew gave a theatrical sigh. "I hate to watch you go, but how I love to watch you leave."

Silena, Blake and Gwen shared entertained grins, and laughed at Drew's mortified expression when she realised she'd said that out loud. They too collected themselves though, and headed back towards the cabin to assemble their wayward siblings. Dinner awaited, after all, and Gwen had quickly come to appreciate the Grecian fare with a relish that didn't surprise her. It was particularly delicious after a day of arduous training, but even as Gwen contemplated the possibility of weight gain, she couldn't bring herself to regret eating as much as she did these days. Her routine involved a great deal of calorie burning, after all, and Gwen could probably use all of the carbohydrates she could get. In any case, Camp Halfblood didn't leave much time for idle thought, and as her siblings pulled her into a discussion of which was better - Converse or Vans - Gwen decided to worry about things another day.

**Author's Note:** If you attended Hogwarts, what house would you be sorted into?

I was asked what my answer would be to last chapter's question. I'd have to say Aphrodite, since I'm a pacifist and avoid confrontation at any opportunity, and I'm also rather vain on occasion. Alternatively, Morpheus is another option, because sleep is like the best thing ever, but anyway, there you go.

Thanks for reading. Leave a review. Until next time, -t.


	7. Chapter 7: Certainty

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seven: Certainty **

The morning of her first game of Capture the Flag, Gwen woke to find a pile of leather carefully laid out at the foot of her bed. A leather vest top that clung to her like a second skin, similarly skintight pants, vambraces and fingerless gloves, and a pair of brand new leather boots, Gwen scrutinised herself in the mirror, and found it difficult to believe her father would have approved of a present so revealing.

In fact, she was astounded to believe that _Sirius_ had approved, which probably meant Tonks had provided the measurements, and Gwen made a mental note to get her older cousin the best Christmas present ever.

The leather was apparently from the magical basilisk she'd killed a couple of years ago, and though Gwen had never paid the monster anymore thought after she'd survived it's venom, apparently, her family wasn't so shortsighted, and they'd harvested the beast's parts accordingly, with all of the profit deposited in Gwen's trust vault, and a section of the leather used for Gwen's knew armour.

"Can you move in it?" Silena asked skeptically, "I mean, you look hot, sure, but it would be pointless if you couldn't fight…"

Gwen ran through a progressively difficult series of Tae Kwon Do stances, and when she was done, she wasn't the only one with a pleased grin on her face. She picked up the letter from Tonks though, and ran through the list of attributes common in basilisk hide, and her grin only widened.

"It's magic resistant, metal resistant, it will grow with me, it won't wear, I can change the colours with magic, there are dimensional pockets in the trousers and the vest, wand holsters in either vambrace, and dagger sheaths in the boots."

"And it does amazing things to your curves," Silena concluded, "I'm kind of jealous."

Gwen grinned and shrugged, but began to change into street clothes, content to leave her leathers to Capture the Flag, and any combat scenarios she'd wind up in in future. They were deposited in her trunk, and Gwen, dressed in denim cut-offs and a light brown tank top, joined Drew at the giant vanity along the back wall, makeup in hand.

When she was done, her eyeliner and chapstick applied, her hair in a ponytail, streaked brown, caramel and gold, Gwen tugged on her green converse sneakers, ensured she had everything she'd need in her satchel, and fell into line with her siblings.

"It looks like the attraction's mutual," Silena observed, and without having to ask, Gwen turned her head towards the Apollo campers, and met Michael Yew's turbulent gaze with her own. The look held, full of unspoken expectations and unabashed confidence, but Gwen smiled and turned away, to Tyra, who seemed determined to catch the older girl's attention, and to Silena, who wore a grin as though her day couldn't get better.

"I like your necklace, Gwen," Tyra complimented, and Gwen touched her fingers to the golden dove pendant hung on a chain around her neck, smile fond. It had been a gift from her father for Christmas past, and though she'd not worn it since her arrival at camp, she treasured it as much as the cygnet ring that marked her as a scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell.

It was presently invisible on her right ring finger, but it was a trinket she never took off, and not even marriage would ever stop her from wearing it.

"Thanks, Tyra," Gwen acknowledged, "It was a gift from my father last Christmas. I guess I understand the dove symbol, now, hey?"

Tyra nodded her agreement, but they'd reached the dining pavilion then, and attention was suddenly singularly focused on the breakfast spread available for them. Gwen herself ate with a goblet full of sweet tea beside her, but before long, the meal came to a close, and the campers were dismissed to their daily activities.

"How is she _already_ so good at _everything?_ She's as new as I am, and I thought children of Aphrodite were supposed to be weaker than most."

Gwen bristled at that comment. She'd heard it often since her arrival at Camp Halfblood, and it seemed as though her siblings, too, believed it, and Gwen didn't like to be considered weak - particularly when it wasn't true. Children of Aphrodite mightn't have been as blatant in their power, but they were strong, in far more subtle ways that allowed them to blend into the mortal world without risk of death at every turn.

Gwen herself was an exception, with the nature of Athena and hecate in her veins - not to mention magic - and Chiron hadn't been the only one to comment on the power available to her. She was perhaps the strongest of her demigod siblings thus far, but it wouldn't mean anything if she wasn't taken seriously.

"Her father's a son of Athena. He's sort of an urban legend in our cabin, actually, but it's said that after he finished school, he never returned to Camp Halfblood. Anyway, apparently he's had her trained since she was _five_, but if the rumours about her power are true, than I don't blame him."

Gwen rounded the corner of the armoury, eyed Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, but opted not to confront them over something so trivial. Instead, she nodded in acknowledgement of their presence, walked past them and their blatantly guilty expressions, and continued on her way towards the stables.

"You look weird," Drew commented, "What's your deal?"

Gwen shrugged, picked up a brush, and began to comb down one of the pegasus. Drew eyed her, skeptical, but she didn't push the issue until they'd both finished with the equines.

"Seriously, what's your problem?"

"It bothers me that everyone - even people in our own cabin - think of us as _weak_." Gwen spat the word as though it was a bad taste in her mouth, and she hated that _anyone_ considered her less capable than she really was.

"This is a camp of warriors," Drew explained, "Pacifism isn't appreciated here. maybe things will change in the future, but for now, that's just how it is."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Naturally," Drew conceded, "But I choose to pick my battles. There's no use trying to change an opinion that's lasted for generations. Eventually, the time will come for Aphrodite's children to prove themselves as more than just pretty faces, but until that time, being underestimated has it's perks."

Gwen was skeptical, and her expression must have reflected it because Drew gave her a knowing smile, tugged at Gwen's ponytail, and promised the witch that she'd understand soon enough. It might have been patronising, but Drew strolled away before Gwen could explain her lack of appreciation for the treatment, and Gwen scowled to herself, irritated.

It was fortunate, then, that her next activity was track with the tree nymphs. She might have been inclined to hurt someone if it was one of her combat classes, but at least this way, she'd be able to vent without risk of an injured party. Gwen threw herself into the task, her anger and frustration and determination, until her face was flushed with the exertion, her chest heaved, and she'd made a new personal best. Even then, she couldn't shake her mood, and she couldn't wait for the day Drew had spoken of.

It couldn't come soon enough.

Evening arrived, and Gwen watched, mildly curious, as the Athena and Aries cabins made a great deal out of the flags they carried. Blake quietly explained that they'd change to match the colours and symbol of whichever cabin successfully captured the flag, but having been raised with a transfiguration prodigy for a father, Gwen herself was unfazed. Plus, she was in the midst of what was left of the Greek pantheon. She'd more or less _expected_ the extraordinary, and to her, magical flags weren't quite as far out of the realm of possibility as, say, the underworld.

"You're not wearing your vest," Drew observed later.

Gwen nodded her agreement. She'd chosen to wear the leather pants and boots she'd been gifted, but she'd opted for a camouflage print v-neck, her hair pulled into a pair of twin braids, her only visible accessories the twin bronze rings she took with her everywhere. Her father's switchblade was in one of her dimensional pockets, as was her invisibility cloak, but as Drew had observed, she'd opted not to wear the pants' accompanying vest.

"It seemed like overkill for capture the flag. I thought I might as well break these in, though."

"It probably is," Drew conceded, and her gaze wandered. "Check it, looks like Mike's got competition."

Gwen followed Drew's direction, and Connor Stoll was there, blue eyes, blonde hair, almost elvish features that made her smile. He was handsome, certainly, tall and lean, with a grin that promised all sorts of trouble, but he didn't illicit the same reaction as Michael Yew, and so Gwen turned away, certain that Stoll's interest was only a passing attraction, and nothing more.

"I thought he liked Katie Gardener," Gwen commented.

"That's Travis, his brother. What do you say, will you make Mike jealous?"

"No," Gwen denied. She hated mind games, thought they were useless and painful, and they weren't at all necessary in the grand scheme of things. "Besides, that wouldn't be fair to Stoll. I don't like to take advantage of people's feelings."

Drew conceded with a nod at the same time Silena joined them, a few red bandannas in hand, smile on her face, and apparently having just come from speaking with Clarisse La Rue. Gwen accepted the one offered to her, tied it in a band around her head, and waited expectantly for her orders.

"We're on lookout," Silena said dully.

"The usual, then," Drew deadpanned. She turned to Gwen. "They haven't realised that gossiping is our passive aggressive way of showing our displeasure."

"I've never been the passive aggressive sort," Gwen admitted. "Should be interesting."

She fell into step with her fellow red team members, and as the Aries cabin wholeheartedly jeered their way past the blue team, the others - Hephaestus, Dionysus, Demeter and Aphrodite - gave a token effort, not nearly so interested in the game as the red team leaders.

Gwen herself struggled not to be insulted by the lack of consideration for she and her siblings' skills. Her competitive nature, her pride and confidence in her own abilities rankled at the treatment, she wanted to ignore the orders and just go rogue, but above anything, Gwen was still new to camp, and she doubted any display of insubordination would go over well.

"You'll see," Drew vowed, her expression unwavering in her confidence, "We'll have our day."

Gwen smiled, and she believed her friend. "I know."

**Author's Note:** If you existed in Middle Earth, and you had the choice to be a member of either, which would you choose: Thoren's company, or the Fellowship of the Ring?

I was asked a couple of questions. Here are those answers:

Q. Which God do you think the Internet should fall under; Hermes (Communication), Hephaestus (Artifice) or Athena (Knowledge/Wisdom.)

A. . I think the computer, and other associated 'smart' technology that has access to the internet would fall under Hephaestus' jurisdiction. I think the Internet itself would fall under the jurisdiction of Hermes. I'm uncertain about Athena, and as for internet porn, if it's not Aphrodite, than it's the collective brainchild of horndogs everywhere. And I'd probably worship a god of the internet too.

Lily Evans not exist in this universe?

A. She does, and I certainly intend to have her make a guest appearance eventually, but for the time being, she's someone Gwen's never heard of beyond a former classmate/flame of James'.

I couldn't tell you what house I'd be in. I rigged the Pottermore survey to put me in Slytherin because green is my favourite colour, but strictly speaking, I'm neither cunning, nor ambitious. I lean towards Ravenclaw, because I enjoy learning and I'm really not hard working enough to be in hufflepuff.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Until next time, -t.


End file.
